


we're a notorious couple (of cats)

by inimitabler



Category: Glee
Genre: CATS the musical, F/F, and i needed to make my peace with it, but read it anyway please, guarantee you can't guess what's about to happen, i am yet again projecting myself onto quinn fabray, i came to the conclusion that rachel is an avid lover of the musical Cats, it's funny I think, multiple proposals, proposal, quinn fabray known Cats hater
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-01
Updated: 2020-06-01
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:34:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24487555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inimitabler/pseuds/inimitabler
Summary: "She knows she’ll gladly spend the rest of her life at Rachel’s side if Rachel allows. It’s moments like these that really make her question that, though."orFour times Rachel proposes to Quinn, and one time Quinn proposes to Rachel.
Relationships: Rachel Berry/Quinn Fabray
Comments: 6
Kudos: 134





	we're a notorious couple (of cats)

**Author's Note:**

> This is my love (read: hate) letter to the musical Cats. Inspired by a terrible, terrible idea I came up with at 1 AM a few weeks ago that my friend thought was funny. Please take everything as a joke. You'll catch on at some point. Enjoy?

The first time it happens, Quinn is shocked.

They’re cuddled together on the loveseat in their brand new apartment, cardboard boxes filled with their belongings spread out all around them. Rachel’s head is resting on Quinn’s shoulder, their legs tangled together in front of them. Quinn is scrolling through Netflix when Rachel says the words that shake her to her core.

“Do you wanna go see Cats next weekend?”

Quinn stops her scrolling and turns her head to look at her girlfriend, who is typing out a text, entirely unaware of the crisis that Quinn is currently going through.

She clears her throat gently. “Cats? As in, the musical?”

Rachel turns her phone off and meets her gaze. “Yeah, the revival. Jesse just texted me and said he has two extra tickets for next Saturday night. We could make it a little bit of a date night! Especially since I start previews soon, and we’ll be seeing less and less of each other.” She finishes with a frown.

“I…” Quinn trails off, not knowing what to say. How have they never discussed this before? They’ve been dating for nearly a year and have known each other since high school. How has this never come up? “Rach, I… don’t really like Cats.”

Rachel raises an eyebrow. “Like, the animal?”

“No, the musical.” Quinn clarifies.

Rachel shrugs her off. “No one _likes_ Cats. I mean, I am rather fond of the show, but, well, you know me.”

Quinn sighs heavily. How is she going to explain this? “No, Rachel, I _really_ don’t like Cats. Like, I would say that I hate it, but that would imply that I care.”

Rachel gasps. “How can you hate Cats? It’s a Broadway classic! It was the longest-running show on Broadway at one point in time!”

“Yeah, I’m well aware.” Quinn says dejectedly. “Remember when you got those tickets to Cats when we came for Nationals, and I told you that it closed years before? I’m _well_ aware that it was the longest-running show.”

“Then how can you possibly hate it?”

Quinn laughs. “How can I not?”

“Quinn, I truly do not understand. The music is brilliant, and the dancing is the best of any musical _ever_!” Rachel reasons passionately. “Surely, as a musician and a dancer, you have to recognize that. And it’s Andrew Lloyd Webber, for Barbra’s sake!”

Quinn shakes her head at the absurdity of the conversation. Of course they would get into an argument over fucking _Cats_. “I do recognize that, but, as a writer, I also recognize how awful the show is. There is no plot, or at least not one that’s made clear to the audience, the lyrics all come from a bunch of nonsensical poems by T.S. Eliot, who you know I despise, and the entire show is a two-and-a-half-hour acid trip with one redeemable song.”

Rachel’s jaw drops, her mouth agape after Quinn’s rant. “I had no idea you felt this way.”

“I never thought it would become such an important factor in our relationship.” Quinn replies.

“Neither did I until now.” Rachel frowns. “I guess I should rethink my Cats-themed proposal I had planned.”

Quinn eyes her curiously. “Your _what_?”

Rachel nods solemnly, getting up from her place on the couch. “I was gonna get down on one knee, like this,” She kneels in front of Quinn and grabs both of her hands. “And I was gonna ask you to be my Mrs. Mistoffelees because never was there ever anyone so clever as you.”

Rachel is looking at her deeply, sincerely, and Quinn doesn’t know whether she should be laughing or crying. Then, Rachel’s façade cracks, a grin slipping onto her previously serious face, and Quinn sighs with relief.

“Please don’t tell me you were actually planning that.” Quinn pleads.

Rachel starts laughing hysterically, and Quinn takes her laughter as confirmation. Shaking her head, Quinn pulls Rachel back up onto the couch with her and smiles at Rachel’s amusement with her own joke. She presses a kiss to her cheek as her laughter dies down.

Rachel grins. “I wasn’t being serious, but I know you would say yes if that was my plan.”

“Don’t be too sure about that, Rach.”

* * *

The second time it happens, Quinn laughs.

It’s a few months later, a few months after they had, in fact, gone to see the _Cats_ revival because Quinn can never say no to Rachel, especially when it comes to Broadway. Since then, Rachel has been busy with Off-Broadway previews and eventually performances every night. Because of their conflicting schedules, their time together has been far less than what it used to be, and, well, Quinn misses her girlfriend. She misses date nights with Rachel, nights cuddled up on the couch, or the bed, or the floor. 

But tonight Rachel has a night off, and Quinn can’t wait to spend the night at home with her.

It’s nearing the holiday season, so they are going to decorate for Chrismukkah: putting up the tree, setting out the menorah, and dispersing any other decorations around the apartment that they’ve accumulated over the years. 

Quinn walks through the door, groceries in her hand, and smiles at the holiday music playing and Rachel’s voice carrying throughout the apartment. She takes her shoes off, sets the bags down in the kitchen, and follows the sound of her voice into the spare bedroom. There, Rachel is on her knees, bent over, digging through the closet for the boxes of decorations. Quinn can’t help admiring the view she sees for a brief moment before she squats down, setting a hand on Rachel’s back.

Rachel jerks with surprise, stops singing, and spins around to look at Quinn. Her face lights up as she greets her and leans in for a kiss, moving her hands to hide something behind her back. Quinn kisses her back, relishing the feeling of Rachel’s lips against hers, before she pulls back. 

“Hi, baby,” Rachel says, quickly pecking her lips once more. “How was your day?”

“Oh, you know, the usual.” Quinn brushes off, more interested in whatever Rachel is hiding behind her back. “Whatcha got there?”

“Got where?” Rachel asks nonchalantly. Quinn raises an eyebrow at her, and Rachel gives in easily. “Okay, okay, I’ll tell you. You have to stand up though.”

Quinn’s confused. “Stand up? Why?”

“Don’t argue with your girlfriend, Quinn. Just do what she says.” Rachel commands.

Rolling her eyes, Quinn stands all the way up and takes a half-step back. She looks down at Rachel, on her knees and looking up brightly at Quinn, and Quinn thinks for a second that this might be something serious. Then, Rachel cracks a mischievous grin, and Quinn knows Rachel thinks whatever she’s about to do is going to be clever.

“Well, Quinn, I just want to say first that I love you.” Rachel begins, and Quinn’s heart rate picks up at the sound of those three words. It’s been almost a year since she said them for the first time, and they never get old. 

“I love you, too.” Quinn says.

Rachel smiles. “I know, Quinn. Now, shush. As I was saying, I love you, and being with you this past year has made me the happiest girl on the planet.”

Quinn’s starting to think again that maybe Rachel is being serious, but when she says, “Quinn, you’re a lot like Macavity because you’re both very mysterious, but I promise to never be like Macavity because I will always be right here,” Quinn just starts laughing. She’s laughing a lot, a lot more than she should be at another one of Rachel’s dumb pranks, but she can’t help it. Her girlfriend is just too precious, even if she just fake proposed to her using another _Cats_ reference.

Rachel breaks down and starts laughing as well. She moves her arms in front of her, offering Quinn the object in her hands. It’s a dreidel. Quinn just laughs harder, taking the dreidel from her hands.

“You got me a dreidel?” Quinn asks through giggles.

“I did, yes.” Rachel stands up and stands in front of Quinn. “It’s our second Chrismukkah together, but our first one in the same home, and well, I thought I should get something to commemorate that. It’s blue and pink, for your favorite color and mine, and our initials are engraved on top. I just wanted to get something to signify our relationship and how our traditions are combining together into one.”

Quinn stops laughing and looks at her girlfriend. Her perfect, _perfect_ girlfriend. Who sets up dumb, fake _Cats_ proposals to give her an incredibly sweet and thoughtful gift. “This is perfect, Rachel. Thank you.”

Quinn kisses her once more and thinks how lucky she is to have this amazing girl in her life.

* * *

The third time it happens, Quinn isn’t laughing.

Far from it, really.

It’s New Years’ Eve, or rather New Years’ Day, and it’s four in the morning, and Quinn has just finished cleaning up the apartment. Santana and Brittany are passed out in the spare bedroom, Jesse’s crashing on the couch, and Sam is fast asleep in the bathtub in the guest bathroom. 

Quinn’s not drunk, not even close. She’s careful with her alcohol consumption and has been since high school and the accompanying realization that alcoholism runs in her blood. Rachel, on the other hand, is well past tipsy and has reached the insatiably aroused phase of her drunkenness.

“Quinn, baby, please.” Rachel slurs, clinging onto Quinn as she shuffles them into their bedroom. “I jus’ wanna kiss you a lil’ ‘n’ do some other stuff too.”

Quinn chuckles at her girlfriend’s drunken horniness. “Not tonight, Rachel. Our friends are all here, and you’re three seconds from passing out.”

“I can be quiet.” Rachel says seriously, and Quinn observes her for a moment. She’s clutching onto Quinn’s arms, resting her head on her shoulder, and Quinn knows there’s no way she could be quiet.

“Not a chance.”

When Rachel pouts, Quinn pries her hands off of her arms and moves to help her take her shirt off. Rachel grins suggestively, raising her arms and draping them over Quinn’s shoulders once her shirt is off. Quinn doesn’t protest as Rachel leans in and sloppily presses kisses to her neck; instead, she brings her arms around Rachel’s back and unhooks her bra. It falls to the ground, and Quinn can’t stop herself from staring.

(Rachel, her incredibly sexy girlfriend, is topless in front of her, and Quinn is a helpless lesbian who is very much in love with said girlfriend. You really can’t blame her.)

“Thought we weren’t having sex tonight.” Rachel shimmies, and Quinn sighs, drawing herself out of whatever world she just lost herself in.

“We’re not.” Quinn confirms, grabbing a loose t-shirt from their dresser and guiding it over Rachel’s head and arms. Quinn takes off her own shirt and pants, throwing on a loose tank top and pajama pants, and crawls into her side of the bed. Rachel clumsily takes her jeans off, sitting down on the bed to kick them off of her ankles, before she lays down next to Quinn and rolls on top of her. 

“Rachel, come on, let’s go to sleep.” Quinn groans as Rachel starts kissing her neck again.

Rachel leans back, grinning wildly. “Marry me.”

Quinn’s eyes widen. Did she hear that correctly?

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Marry me.” Rachel whispers. “Be with me forever. Worship me like all the cats worship Old Deuteronomy. Make love to me.” She says, drawing out the ‘o’ in “love.”

Quinn exhales sharply and leans up to capture Rachel’s lips in a searing kiss. She tastes the champagne and tequila on her lips and is reminded of why this is a bad idea. Her girlfriend is drunk, extremely so, and just, yet again, fake proposed to her with a _Cats_ reference. 

It’d be cute if it wasn’t so strange. And, frankly, annoying.

Quinn pulls back and meets Rachel’s eyes. “Rachel, sweetie, I’m not marrying you if you keep referencing Cats whenever you talk about wanting to spend the rest of your life with me.”

She’s silent, and, slowly, her head droops forward, coming to rest in the crook of Quinn’s neck. Then, she hears snoring.

Of course Rachel just passed out. Quinn doubts she’ll remember any of this conversation in the morning. Sighing, Quinn just wraps an arm around Rachel’s back, adjusts her head a bit, and closes her eyes. 

She loves her girlfriend, even when she gets drunk and asks her to worship her like a bunch of anthropomorphic cats and then falls asleep. She loves her, and she wouldn’t have it any other way.

* * *

The fourth time it happens, Quinn is over it.

It’s six months later, and Quinn’s sure she wants to marry this girl. She loves Rachel, more than she’s ever loved anyone. They’re nearing their two year anniversary, have lived together for almost a year, and Quinn has never been happier. She knows she’ll gladly spend the rest of her life at Rachel’s side if Rachel allows.

It’s moments like these that really make her question that, though.

She opens the door to their apartment and heads straight to their bedroom to change out of her work clothes into something more comfortable. When she walks in, she’s derailed by the sight of Rachel in the center of the room, standing with her arms at her sides.

“Rach?” Quinn asks hesitantly.

Rachel doesn’t respond, and Quinn moves to change her clothes. Whatever is going on with her girlfriend, she’ll figure it out once she’s in something other than slacks and a collared shirt. She throws on a t-shirt and an old pair of shorts and turns back to see Rachel now kneeling on the ground on one knee. 

Quinn’s heart skips a beat at the sight. “Rachel, what’s—”

“Be the Mungojerrie to my Rumpleteazer? My partner in crime?” Rachel asks.

The look on her face is so pure, full of hope and mischief at the same time, that Quinn can’t stand to look at her for a second more. So she walks away. Quinn spins on her toes and walks out of the room. 

“Quinn?” Rachel calls out after her. “Baby?”

Quinn keeps walking, mostly out of spite more than anything. She’s sure they’ll get a kick out of this memory in the future which is why she does it, but right now Quinn just needs to not be looking at Rachel, on her knee, asking Quinn to be the fucking Mungojerrie to her Rumpleteazer.

If she hadn’t just had the worst day at work, if she was in a better mood, if she liked Cats, maybe this would have been funnier to her. Maybe Quinn would have laughed, pulled Rachel to her feet, pecked her lips, and said Yes. But she _is_ in a bad mood, and she _hates_ Cats, and she has a small box with a ring inside hidden away in the closet in the spare bedroom, and Quinn can’t help getting a little upset over the fact that Rachel keeps making jokes over something that has been seriously weighing on Quinn’s mind for weeks, months even.

_God,_ she thinks, _I can’t believe I’m getting this upset over a fucking Cats joke._

She knows she’s overreacting, and she knows Rachel has no idea what’s going on in her head, but that doesn’t stop her from walking out into the living room, sitting down on the couch, slumping over, and resting her head in her hands. Hearing soft footsteps, Quinn looks up to see Rachel standing a few feet in front of her, hands nervously clutching the front of her loose t-shirt. Sensing her hesitation, Quinn gestures for her to come over, and Rachel lets out a deep breath as she moves to sit next to her. Rachel tucks herself into her side, and Quinn easily places an arm around her back, pulling her close. 

“So…” Rachel starts. “So that’s a no, then?”

Quinn chuckles, despite herself. “You already know the answer to that.”

Rachel pouts, and Quinn presses a kiss to her temple. It makes Rachel smile which in turn brings a smile to Quinn’s face. 

“How was your day at work, baby?” Rachel asks, and Quinn simply groans in response, turning to bury her head in Rachel’s hair. “Not good?”

“You could say that.” Quinn says into Rachel’s hair. She grimaces as some of it gets in her mouth, spitting aimlessly to get it out. 

Rachel gasps and bats her head away from her. “I know I upset you, but you don’t need to spit in my hair!”

Quinn just laughs. “Sorry, Rach. But, yeah, today wasn’t great. And, you know, I just really hate Cats.”

“I know you do, baby. I just like to tease you.” Rachel admits. “Besides, you’re not my partner in crime because Jesse has already claimed that role. Plus, it was never specified if Mungojerrie and Rumpleteazer were siblings or lovers, and I don’t love that ambiguity for us.”

“Rachel, seriously?” Quinn says, appalled.

“What? It’s true!”

* * *

The fifth time it happens, Quinn has no one to blame but herself.

It’s two months later, and Quinn has a plan. A big plan. Well, not exactly. Really, it’s a simple plan, but it holds great significance.

The waiting is the worst part. She’s been waiting for months now. Waiting for the right day, waiting for the right moment, waiting for her nerves to die down, waiting for her guts to kick in and convince her to finally do the damn thing. For months, Quinn’s known she’s wanted to do it; she made the purchase almost three months ago. And she’s tired of waiting. 

Which is why she’s doing it tonight. It’s nothing too special, just a random Sunday night. Rachel’s at her matinée, and Quinn is cooking dinner for the both of them. She’s making Rachel’s favorite, vegan lasagna, not that Quinn thinks the pandering is necessary, but simply because she likes to make her girlfriend happy. 

The small, square box is sitting on the table when Quinn hears the door open. She slides it behind the flower vase to hide it and walks over to greet her girlfriend.

“Hi, Rach,” Quinn says, smiling brightly at the sight of Rachel’s post-show gleam.

Rachel grins and instantly leans forward to kiss her. Quinn’s taken aback but responds with equal fervor, walking them forward until Rachel is pressed against the door, hands filled with her keys and bags dangling helplessly at her sides. Quickly, she drops the items to the floor and runs her hands through Quinn’s hair, eliciting a quiet moan from the blonde.

Quinn pulls away, resting her forehead against Rachel’s, lightly panting against her lips. “Hi, again.”

Rachel laughs, pecking her lips one more time before gently pushing her back. “Hello to you, too.”

Quinn heads back into the kitchen to finish up their salads and pull the lasagna out of the oven. She hears Rachel’s footsteps disappear into their bedroom, quickly reappearing and stopping at what Quinn assumes is the table behind her.

“Are these gardenias?” Rachel asks.

“Yeah, they are.” Quinn affirms as she grabs the dish from the oven. Then, she remembers the small black box sitting on the table, messily hidden behind the flower vase.

“Quinn, what’s th–oh!”

Panicked, Quinn throws the pan down onto the stove, whips off her oven mitts, and races over to Rachel, who is staring blankly at the now-open ring box on the table. 

“Shit.” Quinn mutters. Rachel’s eyes immediately shoot to hers, seeking answers, and Quinn sighs. “I guess now works, too.”

“Quinn?”

Looking into her girlfriend’s confused, hopeful eyes, Quinn launches herself into her somewhat prepared speech, “Rach, I love you. I love you so much that I’m not even sure how it’s possible. Whenever we’re together, I’m at my happiest. When you kiss me, my body lights up. When you hug me, I feel safe. When you tell me you love me, my heart soars. When you touch me, I… I understand what happiness is.”

Rachel laughs through her tears. “Look who’s quoting Cats now.”

“Rachel, shush, I’m trying to propose to you.” Quinn admonishes with a smile. “I love being with you. So much. I love waking up next to you and falling asleep alongside you and waiting for you to come home and coming home to you. I love your constant singing, and your incessant rambling, and all of your little idiosyncrasies and eccentricities. I love you when you ask me to be your Mrs. Mistoffelees, or when you call me Macavity, or when you ask me to worship you like Old Deuteronomy.”

“I love you. And I’m constantly amazed that you love me back. I don’t really have much to offer you, but I can promise you that I will always love you the same way I have since I was eighteen, and the way I did at twenty-one, and now, the way I do at almost twenty-five. And I can promise you that I will still love you the same way when we’re thirty-five, forty-five, or eighty-five. I will never stop because, well, you’re my favorite person.”

Tears are falling from Rachel’s eyes, and Quinn is blinking rapidly to stop the tears that are rapidly forming in hers. She grabs the box from the table and lowers herself to one knee, never breaking eye contact with Rachel. Quinn takes her hand in her own.

“This might be a bit anticlimactic at this point, but, Rachel, you make me the happiest person alive, and I count myself lucky every day to love and be loved by you. I loved having you as my friend, and I love having you as my girlfriend, and I would love to have you as my wife.”

She lifts the box up, the diamond ring shining brightly in the light. “Rachel Barbra Berry, will you be the Rumpleteazer to my Mungojerrie? Will you marry me?”

Quinn looks up at Rachel with so much hope in her eyes, and when Rachel squeals _Yes_ and falls to her knees to wrap Quinn in the tightest hug she’s ever felt, she knows a new day has begun.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope someone got a laugh out of this! Title and all references are to the musical Cats by Andrew LLoyd Webber with lyrics from T.S. Eliot's Old Possum's Book of Practical Cats. (I wish I was kidding.)
> 
> Anyway, thanks for reading. Feel free to bother me on twitter and/or tumblr.


End file.
